Tainted Silk
by Philomena Kuroi
Summary: A serial killer is loose in New York, leaving no probative evidence, and he's got eyes for a certain CSI. WARNINGS: Danny torture, close friendships.mild slash later.DannyFlack, possible SMACKed, violence, rape.
1. Beaver

Hey, this is my first CSI: NY fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI New York, but hell I'd like to own Danny's ass ;)

Warnings: Close friendship/slashy hintyness

ENJOY

The thick stench of blood lingered in the air, even at the other end of the long corridor which led up to the scene. The modern apartment building was near silent at this early hour of the morning, and few walked about the white plastered halls. The one man and two teenage girls who had happened to venture into the corridor now stood staring in horror at the blood seeping out from beneath the door of apartment 106.

The scene had yet to be cleared and processed, having only recently been reported, so two cops accompanied the homicide detective who now stalked down the corridor. Two CSIs trailed hurriedly after the cops, field kits in hand and thick latex gloves already in place on their hands.

"Alright people, step away from the scene." The brunette detective commanded, his one outstretched hand ushering them back with ease, despite the slightly hysterical comportment of one of the girls. There was something about this man that caused everyone to listen to him, no matter what. He turned back to the scientists, one of whom was carefully taking a blood sample from the crimson pool. The man quickly dripped phenophylene and hydrogen peroxide on the swab, neatly bagging it upon observing the cotton turn a bright pink. He nodded to the detective and stepped swiftly back out of the way. The latter indicated to the cops, who promptly rammed into the door, sending the appendage slamming backwards off its hinges. The three policemen rushed into the room and fanned out; guns at chest level, fingers ready on their triggers. Years of experience and training shone through as the three fanned out, clearing each room independently. The homicide detective rushed straight to the bedroom, checking the path leading to it as he went. Removing one hand carefully from his gun, he pushed open the door with his elbow and swiftly spun into the room. No life lingered in this room. He sighed heavily and holstered his 45, turning away from the blood stained room with a heavy heart. The only other occupant of the room stared with once cerulean eyes as he left, revealing to him the emptiness they now held. Shaking his head, detective Don Flack left the victim to his colleagues; he'd seen this too many times before.

From first glance, this appeared to be the poor third victim of a serial killer currently terrorising New York. Everything about the scene matched; from the victim profile to the method of torture and murder, right down to the white silk blood tainted cloth hanging above the door. Even before evidence collection and analysis, the CSIs could accurately guess this wasn't a copycat killer. Unreleased parts of the signature were planted everywhere; this was the same guy. Mac exhaled sadly as he began to process the bedroom, around the body bound by its right wrist to the bedstead. His collection turned up little more than he expected. Various blood samples, a few hairs; perhaps belonging to the killer if they were lucky, a now crimson business card and an unknown grainy substance. Until analysed back at the lab, there was no way to tell if such things were probative or not. The D.B long gone, he decided there was nothing more in this room for now and returned to the kitchen/lounge in which his colleague worked.

"What d'ya think? Same guy?" The dirty blond haired CSI inquired from his position on the floor.

"Looks that way."

Silence filled the room as the senior CSI left to process the bathroom, hoping to find _something_ useful there. He was just packing up when a voice called in from the other room.

"Hey Mac, I think I found what he used to subdue the vic." The older CSI soon re-entered the room to see his protégé holding up a damaged and slightly bloody stuffed beaver. Mac raised an eyebrow,

"Novel."

Ok, that was a weird chapter and nothing much happened, but trust me; a plot shall appear shortly! Please review and don't flame.


	2. Shirley

Hey! Second chapter time! Thanks for the reviews, I love you guys!

Disclaimer: If I owned CSI: NY I would not be writing this, instead I would be using young Carmine for my own entertainment. But alas, tis not mine.

You've already had the warnings, so enjoy!

White spots mingled and flirted with dancing black spots on the grainy CCTV footage obtained from the apartment building of the latest victim; one Phillip Williams. The footage of the past week's goings on sat on a cluttered table in the A/V lab, divided into several four hour tapes. Now on the Tuesday; four days before the victim's brutal death, the lobby was void of all life. The time in the corner of the image displayed 19:17:09, just less than fifteen minutes before Mr. Williams was scheduled to return from work.

Danny exhaled loudly, removing his glasses to rub his tired eyes. After just under 12 hours of watching grainy tapes in fast forward, only slowing it in the event of a human presence or some sort of happening, he was officially exhausted. Replacing his wire framed glasses and doing a quick, irrelevant spin on his chair, he returned his attention to the tape. Another hour passed as he watched it in regular time, expecting the return of the victim. A group of teenagers stalked in, got high and stumbled out; that was at about 20:15. Ten minutes later, and the man still hadn't returned.

Slowly, Danny's eyes became half lidded, although still entirely focused on the screen. The image was apparently beginning to blur before his blue eyes, the dots becoming isolated and no longer forming recognisable shapes and forms. Something in the back of his mind was whispering annoyingly at him, mentioning something about work and caffeine. Ah, caffeine; as vital to CSIs as oxygen. The specks themselves were starting to merge now, forming a grey sheet that lulled him towards it. Everything was becoming distant, the background noise of the lab fading into a quiet medley of footsteps and whirring. The world was disappearing into darkness.

"Hey."

"Ah!" The CSI let out a loud yelp, falling backwards off his chair; only to collide with a hard barrier standing right behind him. The blond craned his head back to glare at the man standing over him, all the while calming his now racing heart.

"What the hell ya think ya doin' skulkin' around like that Don!" The detective just grinned and pushed a warm Styrofoam cup of strong coffee into his friend's hand, moving to stand beside him. Absently, Danny hit the pause button and took a careful sip of the much welcome liquid.

"Alright, you're forgiven." He muttered, closing his eyes appreciatively as the caffeine began to take effect.

"Ya know ya can't stay mad at me Messer." Flack beamed, gulping down his own black coffee.

Danny hid his smirk with his coffee cup, preparing to take another taste of the fluid as he spun back to the screen on his chair; stopping mid gulp as he looked at the screen.

"What?" It was obvious to the detective that the CSI had something; he saw that look almost everyday. The way every criminalist's eyes lit up as they found a lead; regardless of how small it may be. It was part of the reason he loved his job; that surge of adrenaline that accompanied each possible case breaker.

Realising his question had gone unanswered; he tried again, "What you got?"

"I know that guy!" The reply came from within a half-open wooden cupboard, in which Danny was now rummaging. Pulling out a tape labelled with his initials and a case number, any remaining questions from the detective were silenced as he slid it easily into the spare VCR.

The computer screen turned black for a second before fizzling to life to reveal an empty and pleasantly decorated lobby. The image was substantially better than the other footage they had been viewing moment before, however it still wasn't of a fantastic standard. Eagerly fast forwarding it to the final hour of the particular tape, he retook his position on the spinning computer chair. They sat in silent anticipation for a few more minutes, until finally Danny let out a loud exclamation of triumph as a man walked onto the screen; face hidden by a sideways worn blue cap.

"I _knew_ I'd seen him before!" Don frowned; there was nothing particularly different or unusual about the man. He honestly could've been anyone.

"You _sure_ they're the same guy?" Shaking his head, Danny pulled up the two images next to each other. They were extremely alike. Both wore the seemingly same cap, the same dark brown suede jacket and their stance appeared incredibly similar.

"Ok, I get the resemblance." The detective agreed, "But how do we know it's our perp?" Two parts of both images were highlighted and brought close up with just a few clicks of the mouse. Pointing a slightly chewed ball-point pen at the screen, he drew imaginary circles around something in the right hand of each.

"See that? He's got a white cloth; in both. _Just_ like tha ones at the scenes! It's gotta be him!" Flack conceded, "Ok, say it _is_ our guy; how do we get 'im?" Shaking his head, the CSI took another swig of coffee,

"I dunno."

"Heard you got another one." A light female voice snapped Mac out of his suspended reverie. Looking up, he offered her a whisper of a smile and tapped the open manilla folder on his desk.

"Yeah, that makes three." Leaning back on his chair, the ex-marine exhaled loudly; "I tell you Stella, if we don't catch this guy fast the city's gonna be in an uproar. PD's already getting calls from all over from men claiming to fit the victim profile; wanting protection." The Greek woman smirked, walking across the neat office to stand at his side; vaguely viewing the file over his shoulder.

"Don't worry Mac. If anyone can get this guy, you can." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as she headed for the door, turning back as an after thought; "Besides; you've got us." Locking eyes for just a second; he knew she was sincere. He would always have his team backing him up, no matter what. As soon as it had come, the contact was lost and the woman had left, glossy brown curls bouncing in her wake.

It was past 2:00 AM when Mac was finally able to force Danny to go home, clearly not heeding this suggestion himself. The New Yorker had reluctantly agreed, although he didn't go straight home. The case was beginning to take a toll on them all; not least the ex-gang tangled CSI. He needed to relax, let off steam; they all did once in a while. His current chosen site of calm was a small bar a few blocks from a subway station near his apartment building. So far, he had been able to attend the dwelling twice, and no one knew he was with the police. In most bars, as soon as his cop connections were known he became considerably less welcome. Tonight-or this morning, however you choose to view it-Danny wasn't here alone though. Detective Don Flack, dressed in a simple light blue shirt and black slacks, joined him. As they sat, savouring the rare occasion of being able to drink alcohol devoid of risk to the lab's integrity, they spoke of menial things. Baseball and basketball, music, girls, cars; anything not pertaining to their jobs. This was their night to let go.

"Ya gotta admit though, it's got a good beat." Don argued; happily debating hip hop with his friend.

"Yeah; if ya got no ears."

"You say that, but I've seen the way ya tap your foot to my CDs. You can't help but _feel_ the rhythm can ya?" Danny laughed, downing the last of his beer,

"Whatever man."

"Excuse me." The duo glanced up to see the young blonde barmaid leaning over the counter at them. "Shirley Temple complements of the dude in the back over there." She smiled and nodded towards a heavily shadowed man sitting at a table in the corner. Sliding a tall drink over to Danny, the girl turned and left to grace another drunk customer with her assistance. The CSI cautiously fleeted a look over to the man, who raised his own Shirley in cheers. Flicking his gaze quickly to Flack, who shrugged, he slightly nervously returned the gesture and sipped at the drink. Sending a quick, dazzling smile to the man, he returned his attention to his friend.

"What's that about?" He inquired, subconsciously sipping the drink. The detective shrugged,

"Maybe he thought you looked down. Ya could use a little sleep there Danny-boy." Grinning, the CSI lightly punched his friend on the shoulder. They picked up the remnants of their previous conversations as before, though Danny kept glancing briefly at the generous man behind; feeling the veiled eyes watching him. But every time he dared to look, the eyes were too shadowed to see. Despite the unease gripping him, the New Yorker was able to finish his free drink without further interference.

"Ya done?" He asked at length, seeing Flack gulp the last of his second beer.

"Yeah, just a sec." He indicated towards the bathroom with a jerk of his head, earning a smirk from the smaller man.

As Danny sat in wait, he felt something clammy brush against his hand. Looking up he just caught a glimpse of a man in a brown jacket grazing past him. Turning quickly around, he could see nothing amidst the throng of people leaving the bar, and so anxiously returned his attention to his hand. There, on the bar before him lay a business card; on it read a few words: DIY HANDY MAN-NO PROBLEM'S TOO GREAT. Beneath this bold writing was a telephone number, an email address and a name. Adrian Brooks. The name rang a bell. He had heard it somewhere before, though as of now; the location escaped him.

Upon hearing Flack return, he slipped the small white card into his back pocket and stood to leave; slinging his jacket over his shoulder and nodding to his friend. The detective studied the CSI for a moment before following him out of the door, glancing quickly back in confusion. They parted ways a little way down the street; Danny heading towards his residence and Don to his parked car. Something within the taller man was nagging him; something wasn't quite right. That night; little sleep found him through the unease he felt.

I hope you liked it. It's a bit longer than the last chapter and I spaced it out more so it's easier to read. Next chapter will see a sudden surge in angst; I promise you.

Please review, and don't flame.

-


End file.
